


An Arena for us all

by Sweetlit



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes - Fandom
Genre: Biting, Blackmail, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Mental Anguish, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Threats, a little divergence from the book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetlit/pseuds/Sweetlit
Summary: Coriolanus is unexpectedly summoned into Dean Highbottom's office. What might that man ever want from him?
Relationships: Casca Highbottom/Crassus Snow (implied), Coriolanus Snow/Dean Casca Highbottom
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	An Arena for us all

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm in the middle of the book and couldn't get this idea out of my head... this is what I'm convinced caused the evident beef between Dean Highbottom and Coriolanus XD even though I'll surely find out it's not the case, eventually!  
> The story is mostly canon to the book, and then takes a little diversion from the original story XD  
> I took a few liberties with some unspecified physical descriptions (like eye color, etc...)  
> Please let me know about any grammar mistakes since English is not my first language! And feel free to leave a review if you liked it ;)

Coriolanus Snow had stood before the Dean's door, looking around in an embarrassed, worried way: he'd been summoned right in the middle of a fervent discussion about the imminent Reaping with some other of the chosen Mentors by none other than Volumnia Gaul, whom had eyed him from behind her thick reading glasses as if he'd been one of her beloved lab rats.  
He'd immediately started sweating cold: they had just publicly announced the list of the Districts paired with their Mentors, and he'd been placed with number 12.  
District 12, the most isolated, bottom-of-the-barrell land, littered with coal mines, barren buildings and sickly workers, a place definitely not suited for being the cradle of a possible winner of the Games.  
And it had been paired with HIM, a Snow.  
His family had been one of the pillars of The Capitol, they had all sacrificed so much in the years during and after the War, and yet, here he was, not only associated with the weakest competitor in the run, but with the female tribute of that District, nonetheless!  
Coriolanus was livid, but also confused and concerned: on one hand, he felt insulted by such a blatant attempt to tear his family's reputation apart, on the other, he couldn't help but acknowledge the deprivations they had endured since he'd been a child; the starving and shortage of money were still affecting his everyday life, so much that he had had to basically beg for his mentorship, in the hopes it would lead to get him his so much sought-after scholarship to access University.  
Without that scholarship, not only his life, but also his Grandma'am's and cousin's would take a very dark turn.  
So now, what did the Dean want from him, and why did he send Dr Gaul specifically to collect him?  
It could mean nothing but trouble, for sure: High-as-a-kite bottom had always held somewhat of a grudge against him, a sentiment that had surely been exacerbated by that stupid nickname Coriolanus had pinned on him, though he'd done it without malice... kind of.  
Dr Gaul had smirked in his direction, opening the door leading to the corridor to the Dean's office for him, making him feel even more anxious: that woman was strange alright, for not mentioning unnecessarily cruel and ruthless in her sketchy experiments with animals.  
"Go ahead... he's waiting for you." She'd informed him with a concerning sparkle in her small eyes.  
Coriolanus couldn't help but notice she'd seemed exceedingly cheerful during the Mentors meeting, that morning, an event which hadn't escaped his companions' attention as well.  
"She must have found a new pet to 'play' with in her lab..." Sejanus had hissed in his direction, clearly disgusted.  
And what if that pet had been him, and leading him to the Dean's office had been nothing but an excuse? What if it was all a trap, could she really trust her, at all?  
The answer was no, yet, what else could have he done? There was nowhere to hide, to run to, in The Capitol, and he had to remind himself two more lives were depending on him and how he behaved.  
He had to move forward and face whatever she or Highbottom might have been concocting for him.  
He had slowly approached the Dean's office, knocking on the door with a timid rap.  
"Come in." A voice had invited him, and he'd stepped inside the room, looking carefully around, searching for signs of imminent trouble, finding none.  
"Ah there you are. Please, sit down." Casca Highbottom had signaled a chair in front of his desk with an authoritarian gesture.  
Coriolanus had stared oddly at him and his sudden change of behavior: he couldn't remember a day in the last few years where that man had been off the morphling, and yet, that morning, seemed incredibly lucid and focused.  
"Thank you..." he'd cleared his voice, dropping on the chair, still a little skittish about the whole situation.  
"So, I guess you've heard the news. The Mentors assignments." The older man had specified with an unnerving grin.  
"I have." Coriolanus had nodded, pissed, but smart enough to hide his real feelings from that twat, as he was used to do.  
"And? What do you think?" Highbottom had pressed a tad too eagerly.  
"Quite... unexpected, I would say." That word was the understatement of the century, yet, he couldn't give the other man the satisfaction of reading any kind of disappointment on his face.  
"Ah, I'm sure you were hoping for something rather different, weren't you?" The Dean had chuckled, more and more amused by the exchange.   
"A tribute worth of your scholastic achievements or family's name, maybe?"  
Shit. "We were all taken by surprise." He'd glossed, and he wasn't truly lying, after all.  
Casca had eyed him from under his lashes with a small frown.  
"I have known your family for a very long time, boy, and a Snow always 'lands on top', as per your personal motto. But not this time, right? This time, you fell at the real bottom..."  
Coriolanus had sensed his muscles tense at the sudden realization: he'd had his suspicions high since reading the list, and he'd been right.  
They had purposefully sabotaged his chances to gain the scholarship by pairing him with a sure-to-lose tribute!  
"I don't understand." He'd managed to stutter, upset.  
"I don't expect you to, it's a long, miserable story, started many years before you were born. What you only need to know is that you will never access your long-desired University, with or without your position in the Hunger Games, unless..."  
"Unless what?" Coriolanus had glared at him, unimpressed. Of course, it had all to come down to corruption and compromise, he couldn't have been any less surprised, at that point.  
"Unless I let you."  
Ah. "And what is that an Academic Dean might want from me?"  
More drugs, probably. Money, definitely not, since they had barely what they needed to survive, and Highbottom surely was aware of that, given the acrid comments he was always casting his way.  
Casca had snorted, a glint of triumph sparkling in his green eyes, which although still heavy and overshadowed by black circles, looked a lot brighter and more attentive than their usual, pale selves.  
"You are an intelligent young man, Coriolanus Snow, I'm sure you will figure it out." He'd moved from the desk to come stand right in front of the seated boy.  
Coriolanus had frowned: it was about time Dean Highbottom decided to reveal his true intentions, after the long dance they'd performed since he'd been accepted at the Academy, a dance made of lies, provocations and spiteful digs at his mended shirts and black market shoes.  
Still, he was at a loss of what such a slimy, more powerful man might gain from blackmailing him.  
He'd scrutinized his face and general countenance, incapable of finding an answer, until he'd followed the older man's gaze down his torso and abdomen and had finally noticed the telling bulge in his pants.  
"No." He'd denied, unable to accept it, moving away from the offending sight as much as the chair had let him.  
It couldn't be, Dr Gaul must had toyed with their food at lunch and he was now hallucinating, there couldn't be another explanation for it.  
"Yes." The Dean had instead confirmed, shaking the boy from his stupor with ill-concealed glee.  
This was such a nonsense, Coriolanus couldn't really grasp the reason behind such a demand, his brain was refusing to cooperate elaborating the information on the matter.  
"I want you to understand this is a one-time deal, boy. You walk out that door, and no matter how well you'll manage to score in the Games (though I highly doubt you'll ever fare an acceptable placement with such a District), that scholarship will go to someone else, someone who probably has high enough assets to buy one anyway."  
'Damn.' Coriolanus had pondered quickly his options, failing to find anything, from intimidation to counter-offers, to get himself out of that sordid 'bargain'.  
Highbottom had all the power on his side, the power he'd desperately craved all of his adult life to pull himself and what was left of his family out of hunger, financial instability and an uncertain future.  
If he rejected him now, it would mean that all the sacrifices and humiliations they had endured in the past would have been for nothing, and even meager days would have laid ahead of them.  
Coriolanus couldn't let the two living beings depending on him being annihilated for the wrong choice, or, to put it in Tigris' words, for not doing something he would surely later regret: it would've been worse than witnessing his already faltering life fall apart without doing a damn thing about it.  
They all had given up a bit of their innocence to get where they were, his cousin surely had.  
The Dean was standing in his way to the scholarship, so now it was his turn to sacrifice for his family's legacy.  
"How do I know you will keep your word and let me run for the prize, if I... don't decline?"  
"Ah, I was sure you would eventually come to my terms." Casca had bared his pearly white teeth in a salacious smirk, and Coriolanus had wondered for how long that plan had been forming in the back of his drug-altered mind.  
"I won't undo the Mentors' list, it would cause too much of a public fuss with some of the students who have endorsed in the Academy, like your dear friend Sejanus. But if you'll manage to run a good campaign for your tribute and follow our Head Gamemaker's lead, then I'll make sure to press a few people to get you in the runner up position of that award."  
Coriolanus had stood very still for an incredibly long minute: so Dr Gaul had been truly involved with that scheme, hell, giving how perverse and convoluted it was, it had probably been all concocted by her twisted brain.  
"So what is your answer?"  
The young man had stood up silently to regard the Dean in the eyes, keeping an icy stare as he'd let his uniform jacket fall from his shoulders to the floor.  
He'd turned and walked to lock the door, the air getting knocked off his lungs when Highbottom had sneaked up on him from behind, crushing him flat across the wooden plank with impressive strength.  
Coriolanus had gasped, in shock: from what he'd heard, Dean Casca had been a very different man before falling under the morphling's influence, and something in his unusual height or the way he still carried himself seemed to suggests the rumors to be true, even though he'd started looking more and more gaunt and washed-out in recent years.  
"Open your trousers and pull them down, not all the way, just mid-thigh." The aforementioned had commanded with a menacing growl in his right ear.  
Coriolanus' breath had audibly caught in his throat, the realness of the situation suddenly downing upon him, and it had taken his fumbling fingers a while to undo the zipper in his trousers, sliding them, along with his crumpled underwear, out of the way, his lean white buttocks clenching tightly in nervous anticipation.  
He'd heard the Dean snort appreciatively beside him, before he'd started unbuttoning his own flap, pulling the wet, glistening head of his cock from the folds, out in the humid air of the room.  
Coriolanus had braced, not knowing exactly what to expect: he had no experience in that field, hell, he had no experience in the romantic field at all, therefore the only thing he was positive he would feel was pain and probably shame, afterward.  
Casca had clasped one hand tight across his left shoulder, keeping him firmly in place, as if he could have gone anywhere or tried to escape through the wall, the other hand ghosting slowly across his spine and lower back until it had reached his rear. He'd sensed fingers close around one of his globes, giving it a firm squeeze, before spreading it to the side to reveal his hidden hole underneath.  
The Dean had sighed and dropped his whole body forward, his nose burying in the trimmed hair of Coriolanus' nape, inhaling his strong scent exacerbated by the summer heat of the day.  
"You even smell like him." He'd whispered so low his words could have gotten lost in the background noise, hadn't he been so close to him.  
The younger man had stood frozen in place, blindsided: he'd pictured a lot more violence and hurry, yet Highbottom seemed to like taking his time to play mind games with him.  
He'd felt his shirt being peeled from his backbone and the hand keeping him tucked against the plank had descended to caress the fur in his chest, finding the nipples and pinching them lightly before curling around his ribs, cutting the wind in his lungs.  
"Don't fight it, it will only hurt if you do." The older man had warned him, and Coriolanus had barely had the time to absorb the information that something thick and slick had started probing at his lower orifice, making him jump in surprise.  
He'd bit on his lower lip to avoid whimpering as he'd submitted and obliged to the Dean's instructions, letting that solid bar invade his body without opposing as much as he could, the stretching feeling causing his knees to wobble a bit under the assault.  
Casca had crooned in the curve of his neck, his whole frame shaking with a long tremor before he could focus enough to start pushing his way further up into him with prolonged thrusts.  
Coriolanus had abandoned all pretense of stone cold indifference he had left and had braced against the door, low whines escaping his gritted teeth as the older man had plunged more and more ferociously in his backside, grunting like an animal in his ear.  
"Look at you." The Dean had panted in between hits, his voice hoarse and completely different than the one Coriolanus was used to listen to during the formal speeches at the Academy. "Nothing but an easy sell-off... just like your deceased father."  
The younger man's eyes had widened at that, and he'd finally grasped that yes, Highbottom had more than a personal grudge held up against him, something which had been laid down to root in the past, as he'd mentioned, and that he'd probably never fully understand, not that he actually needed to.  
He'd felt a sudden rage at being used like that for a crime or faux-pas he hadn't even committed, the blood in his vessels pumping faster and wildly to his cheeks, turning them crimson red.  
When Casca had reached to press his lips on his neck, Coriolanus had blindly reached behind to grab him by the short hair, forcing the older man to look him in the eyes before kissing him straight on the mouth, teeth bared, taking a vicious bite off the tip of his tongue with a feral sound.  
The Dean had cried in pain, slamming Coriolanus' head against the solid plank a couple times, not too violently but enough to subdue him, before pushing his injured, bleeding tongue inside of his ear and hitting his peak, releasing all the fluids he had to give buried deep inside of his hole.  
Coriolanus had squirmed at the sticky sensation, caught between the invasion to his buttocks and the one to his eardrum.  
Once the flushes had finally dried out, he'd wriggled and fought the offending body off of him, feeling violated and used, but not tamed in the least.  
Casca had chuckled amused, pulling out slowly, giving him finally enough space to breath and collect himself.  
"I knew there had to be fire underneath all that ice." He'd snickered, pressing a cotton cloth between his lips to contain his wound as he'd redressed. "Didn't expect such a reaction, though. Perhaps Volumnia is not completely wrong about you..."  
That name, again. So what had it been all about? A test? A social experiment?Coriolanus had wondered, still tasting the other man's blood in his mouth.  
"Here, clean yourself up." The Dean had offered him another cloth with a taunting smirk. "You look pale."  
Coriolanus had hesitated clearly, before accepting the soft fabric to wipe the other man's traces from his body. He had pulled up his uniform trousers back around his waist without speaking a word, his mind still focused on Highbottom's statement.  
He'd felt suddenly observed, and when he'd turned, he'd discovered that the other man had never diverted his attention from him.  
Coriolanus had blushed, casting his clear eyes to the ground to avoid looking at him, taking his jacket from the other one's hands in an automatic gesture.  
He'd reached for the handle and had barely had the time to get a glimpse of freedom outside, when a crooked hand had closed in a vicious grip around one of his forearms.  
"You have blood on your ear." Dean Casca had stated matter-of-factly, pointing at the region right over his earlobe.  
Coriolanus had used his personal kerchief, one of many he always kept in his pockets, to erase the mark off his skin, eying at the crimson stain for a split second, before putting it back in his pants: Highbottom must had left it on him after he'd bitten on his tongue, earlier.  
A sudden, delicate, touch had ghosted along his cheekbone, down to the nape of his neck: Coriolanus had raised his gaze and met the Dean's green eyes, which had seemed to be distant, far away from him and his surroundings, like he was caught in a reverie or a fond memory.  
He'd regarded him in silence, the feeling of shame finally starting to pool in the pit of his stomach: it was becoming more and more evident that the whole ordeal had not been about him at all, Casca couldn't have made it anymore obvious, at that point.  
Coriolanus had frowned, stepping back and shaking the Dean out of his stupor, his ice blue eyes colder than ever as he'd stared at his face with such a pure form of hatred and disgust he never suspected he'd ever be capable of.  
"I should get back." He'd uttered, his whole body tense as if ready to get into a fight.  
He'd been mocked. He'd been used all along, and what he'd just endured had been nothing but his whole kind of personal arena, created for him specifically by Dr Gaul, and even though he could have believed he'd gotten out alive, a winner or a survivor, maybe, there could have been nothing further from the truth.  
The Dean had been played along with him, used as a pawn in a game a lot bigger than the two of them, and although Coriolanus genuinely despised the man, he couldn't help but also feel something like pity for him, especially when he'd cast a final glance over his shoulder and had witnessed him pull a flask from one of his pockets to get high on his usual amount of morphling drops.  
Once Casca had finally relented and let him back to his Mentor's duties, he'd exhaled a deep breath he hadn't realized had been holding all along, the dull pain in the abused regions of his body starting to pulse more distinctly as the adrenaline rush had begun to subside.  
Coriolanus had managed to walk along the main corridor until reaching the Hall where all the other Mentors were reunited, finding out that his hands were noticeably shaking and also marked with bloody crescents from were he'd stuck his nails in his palms.  
A distant voice similar to Sejanus' had reached his ears from what had resembled a rather long distance, but all he could think about were the Dean's cryptic words and what they had seemed to imply.  
He'd cautiously inspected the Hall, scrutinizing his fellow mates with distrust, and there, in the far corner of the auditorium, stood Dr Gaul with a glass in her hand, her beady eyes scanning the students surrounding her like a scientist would with her subjects.  
Their eyes had met, and Coriolanus had felt a cold chill ran down his spine, his attention shifting quickly to Clemensia and Livia chatting near the lunch buffet, choosing to approach them to escape the obtrusive thoughts his mind couldn't fight off anymore.  
'Are we Mentors or tributes? Is there an Arena for us all?' He couldn't help but wonder, as the day resumed his normal course, as if nothing relevant had happened.


End file.
